


Tea and Lemons

by crimsonsenya



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonsenya/pseuds/crimsonsenya
Summary: A melancholy pwp set in the timeframe after the episodes TheEnd/TheBeginning.





	Tea and Lemons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ in 2007.

An asymmetrical figure lies sprawled on his leather couch. Mulder’s keys hitting the surface of the coffee table with a loud click don’t get any reaction out of Krycek. Even if he is completely immobile, Mulder knows he is awake –has been since Mulder’s footsteps echoed in the corridor–, just postponing the inevitable confrontation. It thrills Mulder that somebody recognizes his stride, that somebody knows him so intimately.

“Where have you been?” Mulder asks, as he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it away in the wardrobe. The garment is soaked, and he should let it dry in a hanger in the bathroom first, but he wants an excuse to touch Krycek’s jacket and smell the leather. The jacket is dry and smooth beneath his fingertips.

 

On the couch, Krycek stirs and rises up stretching, but he doesn’t answer. He picks up his Glock from between the cushions and tugs it casually in the waistband of his sweatpants, hiding it under the hem of his tee. Those are Mulder’s clothes that Mulder will wear unwashed at least a week afterwards.

 

Sometimes, Krycek replies to his question, but always later, in the darkness of Mulder’s bedroom. It is an even greater thrill for him; the illicit secrets whispered straight to his ear while Krycek’s palm skims over his groin, hot and relentless. The night when Krycek kissed him and delivered him the location of the alien rebel was the beginning of a series of variations. Only this file remained, when all the other X-files burnt to ashes.

 

Mulder stands rigid in the doorway, maybe waiting for a kiss, maybe just taking in the reality of having Krycek at home with him.

“I’m gonna make us some tea.” Krycek walks past him. He doesn’t look at Mulder, but his face is unguarded, almost relaxed. Mulder peels off his tie, dress shirt, and pants. Leaving nothing but his boxer shorts on, he follows Krycek to the kitchen. The coolness of the apartment makes his nipples pebble. He likes them that way –Krycek likes them that way too. He turns from the stove and pinches Mulder.

 

The tea Krycek brews is always strong, like a kick in the gut. He measures the tealeaves on the pot carefully with his one hand. Mulder is most careful not to make any moves that could be considered as an attempt to aid him. There are a few items Krycek has brought and left at Mulder’s place over his visits. The teapot is one. The Italian prosciutto, mayo and full-wheat bread are the other three. Mulder bought the toothbrush and the razor after the first time Krycek stayed overnight.

 

Krycek likes his tea with lemon and a generous spoonful of sugar. Mulder drinks his own with milk, and he plays footsie under the table, warming his chilled toes by rubbing them against the crown of Krycek’s foot. They watch CNN afterwards in the glow of the table lamp. Mulder can’t wait for the end of the news, to the moment Krycek finally jumps the channels until he hits a black and white movie and switches the sound off.

 

When he gazes at Mulder, Mulder feels as if Krycek hadn’t truly acknowledged Mulder’s presence earlier. The difference between just being in the same room with him and being the sole object of Krycek’s whole focus is so pronounced. Krycek’s eyes are slitted, but his lips are slightly parted as well as his thighs. He scoots down, until he is prone and pulls the hem of his shirt back. The sight of his hand grazing his own abs beside the handle of the gun is pornographic and desirable. Mulder bends over him, aroused. He aligns his thumbs on Krycek’s hipbones as he sucks him, the hums and quiet moans that Krycek slips turning him on even more.

 

“Fuck, Mulder, your mouth,” Krycek husks after his orgasm, running his finger over Mulder’s lips. Mulder laves the digit. He is kneeling on the floor now.

“Can I come in you?” he asks quietly, looking up at Krycek’s eyes. Krycek is still semi-hard, as Mulder pulls the sweatpants down all the way Krycek’s long legs and off. The gun rests on Krycek’s stomach, and Mulder gives the barrel a peck. It tastes slightly of gunpowder, lethal schemes and murder. Mulder’s hard-on is painful.

 

They move to the bedroom. Krycek’s saunter is unbelievably graceful, as if he was a one-sided ballerina. They kiss on the duvet for a long time, pausing every now and then to listen to the pounding of the heavy raindrops against the windowpanes and the shadowplay on the wall. The world outside is drowning. Krycek’s tongue moves skilfully inside Mulder’s mouth as Mulder’s cock moves inside him. After Mulder comes, he brings Krycek off again, covering his hand with Krycek’s.

 

‘You can’t own a cat’ Mulder thinks. ‘The cat is the one who marks you with his scent.’ Krycek is flat on his stomach now, his whole body lax and satiated. Mulder licks the saltiness in the dip of Krycek’s back. He removes and discards the t-shirt as he proceeds up along his spine. His hands tremble when he finally reaches Krycek’s thump. There are abrasions on his shoulder blade. Mulder traces them gently with the tip of his tongue, then every one of the scars where the arm was cut off. Each imperfection of skin and mar in bone sends a jolt through Mulder’s body. Panting, he presses his newly stiffened shaft down on Krycek’s back. Mulder knows he could explode from the oral sensations only.

 

He is addicted, hopelessly so. Mulder thinks of tea and lemons, milk and sugar, how they all taste like Alex, and how Mulder likes their taste in Alex’s mouth. He says it aloud when Krycek rolls over on his back. Krycek laughs and swats Mulder’s hands away from his own crotch.

“That’s mine,” Krycek snarls. They lie on the bed face to face. Mulder gazes at him intently, as if willing the mysteries behind Krycek’s eyes to unravel by themselves. The throbbing abates painstakingly slow, as Krycek keeps stroking Mulder’s side. What Mulder doesn’t like about tea is that if he isn’t patient, he can burn his mouth in the boiling water. Yet, that has never stopped him from a sip.


End file.
